


Son of A Preacher Man

by sweettea_and_lemonade



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Bit Cliche, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Homophobia doesn't exist in this universe at all because i'm the god of this realm, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Angst, No Homophobia, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Song Lyrics, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because FUCK that we're here for two dumbasses in love, but like...it's gay so it's fine, complete heterochromia iridium to be exact, crowley has heterochromia, i'm so glad they got popular again so i can share my bullshit with the fandom, just let them be happy and in love no matter what time or place, long oneshot, song: son of a preacher man, these two make me go feral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:01:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettea_and_lemonade/pseuds/sweettea_and_lemonade
Summary: (Based off the song 'Son of A Preacher Man' by Dusty Springfield. I got the inspiration for this while in the car listening to this song; the lyrics just screamed Ineffable Husbands and the idea developed from there. My goal was too make this story as fluffy as humanly possible and indulge on my favorite pass time: turning songs into stories for the gays TM.)Anthony J. Crowley was never much of a religious person; he could count the amount of times he's been to a church on one hand. His father never took him and his siblings growing up and so he never had the inclination towards the practice of religion. Normally the subject bored him and anyone who tried to preach the good word to him would be met with a blank stare (not that they'd notice, his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses after all).However, a dinner with his father's friends sparks a change in the teen when he meets the son of the town pastor- and suddenly he's feeling the holy spirit.





	Son of A Preacher Man

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Son of A Preacher Man](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/491923) by Dusty Springfield. 



> This is a high school AU so here's some basic information before the story begins:  
> Aziraphale and Crowley are 17 years old  
> Crowley is one of Satan's (goes by Lucifer in this story) children  
> Aziraphale is one of God's (goes by Yahweh) children  
> Lucifer and Yahweh run rival law-firms in London, but both were friends with Mr. Young during their college days. Lucifer and Yahweh hate one another, but remain civil in Mr. Young's presence...most of the time.  
> Finally, Yahweh is the pastor of one of the largest churches in their area of London  
> (I'm not British so please have mercy)

Anthony Crowley followed behind his siblings quietly, his wiry hands tucked into the tight pockets of his black jeans. His brothers were usually much louder and much rowdier than him and today was no different. Even now they were bouncing from place to place or shouting at one another. He wondered how the hell he was related to these heathens. In a way, he found himself resembling his father the most out of all his children: silent, a constant brooding expression, a love for wearing all black, the same dark ginger hair, and a general annoyance towards the others around them.  

The family finally approached the porch of the Young household. Crowley wondered why they even bothered to knock anymore; Mr. Young had been answering the door the same way since Crowley was a kid. 

“No need to knock like a stranger. C’mon in Lucifer!” Mr. Young greeted the rowdy crew, the two men smile and give each that weird middle-aged half-hug that included patting each other on the back. Crowley crossed the threshold and kicks off his sleek black boots before walking further into the living room. He finds Adam, Mr. Young’s son, sitting with his friends in a circle as they admired his new puppy. The dog looked positively adorable yet...Crowley couldn’t put his finger on what was exactly wrong with the pup, so he chose to ignore it as he walks over and kneels by the eleven-year-old boy. He only vaguely remembered the first time he met Adam, himself being just seven years old when the boy had arrived. 

“Hey kid. Happy birthday, big double digits. Congrats,” Crowley spoke slower to keep his lisp from slipping through his s’s. The younger didn’t notice or cared that Crowley spoke slower at times. Adam was easy to talk to, easier than his family at least.  

“Crowley!” Adam’s head perked up at the other’s voice and he turned to hug the teen. Crowley took pride in thinking he was Adam’s favorite person; he had earned his place through summers of babysitting and children’s games when he was clearly too old for them. Crowley returned the hug for a moment before letting the younger boy go so he could reach into his pocket. 

“Gotcha a gift. A little thing. Dad has your real one under his arm, but I wanted to give you something special just from me,” he handed the poorly wrapped present over. It was wrapped in old Christmas wrapping that had been sitting around since the 80’s. The paper barely covered what was inside. It didn’t matter, Adam shredded the paper to get to the prize inside. A pair of sleek black sunglasses that were almost identical to the ones Crowley was wearing (yes, even though he was inside). Adam’s face broke into a wide smile. 

“Bitchin’!” 

“Language!” Mrs. Young snapped from the kitchen. 

“Sorry mum!” Adam called back before lowering his voice so only Crowley and his friends could hear,” They’re bitchin’ Crowley. Thanks.” 

Crowley wondered where Adam heard that word, and why he was using it like that. It brought an amused smirk to his face,” No problem. I’m glad you like them.” 

Adam put the sunglasses on and popped up his shirt collar up to mimic the collar of Crowley’s leather jacket. Crowley rolled his eyes and scoffed at the mockery, but his smirk never lessened. Yeah, being the favorite was a pretty good gig.   

An hour later, everyone was called to the table. Mrs. Young set a casserole in the center of the table as another knock came from the front door.  

_Billy-Ray was a preacher's son_  

_And when his daddy would_ _visit_ _he'd come along_  

“I got it!” Mr. Young called as he ran to the door. As Crowley sat down, he could hear Mr. Young’s  _‘no need to knock stranger…’._ He only looked up from his cup of grape juice when he heard the shuffle of unfamiliar footsteps grew closer.  

“Lucifer.” 

“Yahweh.” 

Crowley could cut the tension with a knife. He looked from the frown on his father’s face to the man he’d only seen on the occasional billboard. Just like in those billboards, everything he wore was grey or white. He was tall, his haircut perfectly, and his blue eyes burned with intense hatred that was directed at Crowley’s father. Their eye contact broke as an oblivious Mr. Young slid into the room with a wide grin.  

“Come sit down! Adam and friends! Come get something to eat!” he called to his son and his little gang. A herd of little kids joined Crowley’s family as the other family found places to sit. Once settled, the family bowed their heads in prayer. Crowley and his siblings looked to one another, not sure what to do. Crowley watched them curiously as his father motioned for them to be quiet out of respect. Soon, they raised their heads and the clatter of silverware joined the chatter of conversation the Youngs started.  

_When they gathered round and started talkin'_  

_That's when Billy would take me walkin'_  

_A-through the backyard we'd go_ _walkin_ _'_  

Crowley didn’t reach for anything just yet. Instead he was looking down the line of white and grey colored dress shirts, sipping on the grape juice in his cup. They even had similar haircuts; Crowley wanted to groan at that. His eyes finally found the only outlier in the Brady Bunch. He was a plump boy that sat at the very end of the table, a bit cut off from the others. Instead of a dress shirt, he wore a grey wool sweater and his hair wasn’t cut short; golden curls hung past his ears. He was looking down at a book in his lap, thin wire glasses perched at the top of his nose. Crowley was going to move on and grab more grape juice when the teen looked up at him. The two made direct eye contact. 

_Then he'd look into my eyes_  

_Lord knows to my surprise_  

The desire for more drink died in Crowley’s head. Instead all he could think was, ‘blue.’ The other’s eyes weren’t the common grey-blue most could be, they were vibrantly-  _violently_ blue. The blond smiled at him. It was soft, simple, and surely done to cut through the awkwardness of being caught reading instead of joining the conversation. To Crowley, the smile sent a wonderful warmth through his chest and up to the tips of his ears, turning them a slight pink. A slight smile was returned before the bread basket is passed around and the other happily takes a roll.  

Dinner passed with plenty of laughter from Mr. and Mrs. Young and tight smiles from the two opposing men. Crowley quickly learned Yahweh’s kids were a different kind of troublemakers: the silent types. Every turned head led to another pea or piece of bread flying across the table. His siblings- who never backed down from a challenge- returned with fervor. Only Crowley and the other boy seemed to keep themselves out of the fight (not without many efforts by their siblings to get them to join in, of course.) The other seemed to be comfortable enough with just reading his book while Crowley was content with admiring him from across the table. A tug of his jacket pulled his attention to Adam, the kid still looked ridiculous wearing his sunglasses with his collar popped up.  

“We’re going to play outside, wanna come with us?” Adam asked, already tugging Crowley out of his seat bit by bit. He feigned resistance for a moment before rising out of his seat and heading for the door to the backyard. He expected Adam and his friends to run around him and beat him there. Instead, Adam had turned and ran towards the very end of the table where the blond teen sat. The two spoke for a moment before the bookworm rose from his own seat, tucking his novel under his arm as he followed Adam and his friends. The two looked at one another as Crowley held the door open for the small group of kids and the dog they dragged out with them. The blond smiled politely as he passed through the doorway. 

“Thank you,” he spoke softly. Crowley leaned against the door- attempting to look cooler to compensate for the warmth spreading in his chest- and nodded. 

“No problem,” he replied nonchalantly. He closed the door behind him and stepped into the chilly autumn air. The sun was just on the verge of disappearing down the horizon. Adam had his glasses in his hands, finding it hard to see with the lack of light. Crowley kept his on.  

“Look what Crowley got for me!” Adam held the glasses up to the blond for him to inspect. The teen took them for a moment and looked over them, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sunglasses?” 

“He always tries to steal mine,” Crowley explained as he walked up to the two, hands tucked into his jacket pockets for warmth.  

“They’re cool ‘Zira!” Adam said as he took the glasses back and hung them from his shirt. Crowley let a smirk settle on his lips as he watched the boy.  

“I guess so. But how can you possibly see out here?” the other asked, looking directly at Crowley for the third time that night. He just shrugged. 

“I can see just fine.” 

“He wears them because his eyes are two different colors,” one of Adam’s friends (Pepper was her name if Crowley remembered correctly) piped up. Crowley shot her a glare.  

“Shut it ki-” 

“Ooh! Crowley show ‘Zira! Show him!” Adam begged. Crowley found himself surrounded by four chanting children; his frustration being hidden behind his glasses. His attention was dragged away by the sound of stifled laughter.  

_The only one who could ever reach me_  

_Was the son of a preacher man_  

_The only boy who could ever teach me_  

_Was the son of a preacher man_  

_Yes he was, he was_  

_Ooh,_ _yes_ _he was_  

He looked up and found the blond laughing at him. When he realized Crowley was watching, he attempted to hide the laughter behind his hand. The heart-eyes must’ve hit him hard because it took Crowley a moment to register that Adam had stolen his glasses and ran off. He knew he was expected to give chase but ‘Zira had stepped closer, his laughter dying as he stared at Crowley’s eyes. His right eye was a deep brown, almost black, and his left was a much brighter golden color though some dark brown stuck out from the edge of the iris. He felt Adam run past him a few times, but he was frozen in place. He wondered if this is what swooning felt like… 

“You’re right Adam, they are ‘cool’, “the other spoke finally. Crowley confirmed that, yes, this was what swooning felt like.  

“Thanks,” his lisp hit hard making his ‘thanks’ sound more like ‘thankth’. If the blond noticed, he didn’t seem to care as he nodded with that same sunny smile. Adam ran behind him again, and this time Crowley shot after him.  

\--- 

After a few hours of tag, hide-and-seek, hide-and-seek tag, and another round of ‘steal Crowley’s glasses and run like your life depends on it (because it does)’ the kids seemed to finally be worn down enough to just sit in the grass to tell stories and talk. Crowley and the other teen sat a distance from them. Crowley sat back against a tree while the blond took a seat on the swing attached to it.  

“Is Crowley really your first name?” the other asked. Crowley shook his head. 

“Nah. It’s Anthony, I just go by Crowley. In primary school, there were five Anthony’s in my class. We all went by our last names and it just stuck,” he explained,” What about you? Adam keeps calling you ‘Zira.”  

“My full name is Aziraphale, Adam used to struggle with pronouncing it, so he came up with ‘Zira.”  

“Sounds angelic.” 

“It is! My father named all of us after angels.”  

That wasn't exactly what Crowley meant but he was glad to have the excuse,” Of course he did. Isn’t he a preacher man?” 

_Being good isn't always easy_  

_No matter how hard I try_  

Aziraphale squinted, a tad offended by the comment,” Yes, he’s a pastor. What of it?”   
 

“Nothing of it, although it’s kinda funny. A lawyer and a man of God,” he laughed a bit,” A contradiction don’t you think?” 

“No. He does his job in the court and in the church. There’s no reason for the two to be a contradiction of the other.” 

“What if the person he’s working for is in the wrong?” Crowley retorted.  

“Well that’s not his fault. He’s just doing his job, how is he supposed to know his client’s true motive? That’s the judge and jury’s job to decide.” 

“Do you honestly think lawyers get paid so much just because they’re doing a public service?” 

Aziraphale took a long pause to just glare at a smirking Crowley,” Maybe your father runs that kind of business but mine does not.” 

“Oh please, I know mine’s a crooked bastard. Wins a lot of cases though, as many as yours.” 

The other scoffed,” Language. You do realize there’s children nearby.” 

“Who do you think taught Adam how to swear, angel?” Crowley bit at the inside of his cheek. 

“Crowley! He’s eleven!”  

If Crowley took his glasses off, he might’ve been able to see the other’s flustered expression in the glow of the back-porch light that spilled into the yard,” He’s going to learn them anyway.” 

“Let him keep his innocence for a bit longer. I remember when he was still little,” Azirphale said wistfully. 

“Yeah. I’ve played babysitter for him during the summer for...” he paused to count on his hand,” Five years now? Seen him grow up.” 

Aziraphale seemed to sit up straighter,” You babysit him too?” 

Crowley nodded,” I get a little extra money and Adam is easy- wait. You babysit him? When?” 

“After school until five during the school year.” 

“No shit!” 

“Language.” 

_When he started sweet-_ _talkin_ _' to me_  

Crowley threw up his hands, but a smirk stretched across his face,” Were you there for his superhero phase?” 

The blonde's face broke into a grin,” Oh goodness. You couldn’t get him out of that batman costume for months! He even got me to play Robin on occasion.” 

“I played the Joker every day for almost three months straight. He made me a purple hat out of paper and a bow tie,” he laughed. Aziraphale leaned against the ropes of the swing and laughed with him. 

“That’s so...nice of you.” 

Crowley scoffed,” I’m not nice. Adam has earned my respect is all.” 

_He'd come and tell me everything is all right_  

Aziraphale hummed,” I think you’re nicer than what you want to admit. You just act tough.” 

“You’ve just met me angel. I’m absolutely wicked,” he looked up at the sky, pushing his sunglasses down a bit so he could see the stars. He could feel Aziraphale staring at him and glanced to him with a sharp smirk.  

_He'd kiss and tell me everything is all right_  

“Wicked huh?” the other said softly. 

“Awfully, horrifically, wicked,” he replied, his voice just as quiet. 

_Can I get away again tonight?_  

“Aziraphale! We’re heading home!” a voice called from the backdoor. Aziraphale and Crowley looked up at the same time. One of Aziraphale’s brothers stood in the doorway looking like he had just gotten into a scuffle with one of Crowley’s brothers. The blond rose from his place and looked back to Crowley.  

“It was a pleasure meeting you Crowley,” he paused, as if contemplating something, then pulled out a phone from his pocket,” If it’s not too much trouble, could I have your number? So we can keep in touch? About Adam and-” 

Crowley grabbed the phone and quickly put his number in a new contact. He handed Aziraphale’s phone back to him, which earned him another smile.  

“Aziraphale today!” Yahweh called from the door.  

“Right! Sorry!” he called back. He gave Crowley an apologetic look,” See you around dear.” 

“See you angel…” 

\--- 

During the walk to their car, one of Aziraphale’s brothers bumped into him to get his attention,” Why were you talking to one of Mr. Crowley’s kids? They’re nothing but trouble you know that right?”  

Aziraphale shrugged,” I don’t know about the rest, but I think deep down inside there’s a spark of goodness in him.” 

His brother scoffed,” I doubt it.” 

\--- 

Half an hour later, Crowley’s family left the Youngs’ for home. As they were walking, Lucifer looked down at his son. The two shared a comfortable silence before Lucifer chose to speak.  

“Have a nice night with Aziraphale?” he asked without much tact. Crowley looked to his father, then shrugged.  

“I was out there for Adam.” 

“You seemed to be having a decent discussion. I didn’t think you would be able to stand any of Yahweh’s kids.” 

Crowley rolled a reply through his head for a while, then spoke again,” Well… I think he’s just enough of a bastard to be worth liking.”  

His father got a slight chuckle out of that and shook his head,” If you say so…” 

\--- 

_The only one who could ever reach me_  

_Was the son of a preacher man_  

The month moved further into October and with that came Halloween. Crowley woke up that day with a text from Aziraphale, an occurrence that had rapidly become habit. Wake up, text Aziraphale. Study period between classes? Aziraphale. Walking home from school? Aziraphale. Going to bed? FaceTime Aziraphale and listen to him read as Crowley fell asleep curled up in warm blankets and pillows. Over time he learned that Aziraphale spent his study period volunteering in the school library, and suddenly Crowley was in the library during his lunch hour pestering the other. The two bickered relentlessly, and they loved it. 

‘I’m taking Adam and his friends trick-or-treating. Care to join us dear?’ 

Crowley didn’t know why the pet-names caught on, but he wasn’t about to put a stop to them, 'Sure. What time?’ 

‘5 pm sharp! Put a costume on if it suits your fancy.’ 

‘A costume? What are you going as?’ 

‘Nothing. Just me.’ 

‘Terrifying, angel,’ Crowley rolled his eyes as he sent the text and moved to go get coffee.  

_The only boy who could ever teach me_  

_Was the son of a preacher man_  

‘Not nearly as terrifying as you.’ 

Crowley laughed down at his phone as he walked down the stairs. Before he could type a reply, another message came through. 

‘I’m sorry that came off awfully rude didn’t it? It was supposed to be a joke!’ 

Crowley laughed again as he reached the kitchen counter. He grabbed a cup with one hand and reached vaguely for the pot with the other. One of his brothers, Hastur, took notice and just placed it in the younger’s hand as he texted with the other,’ Angel, calm down. I laughed.’ 

“What’s so funny?” Hastur asked. 

“Nothing,” Crowley dismissed him, spilling a bit of coffee onto the counter before making it into his cup.  

“Then why are you laughing?” 

His phone pinged, providing him the perfect excuse to wave Hastur off and walk away. 

‘Oh! That’s a relief. Glad to give you a chuckle this morning!’ 

“He types like an old man,” Hastur said, looking over Crowley’s shoulder as he shoved a handful of Cheerios into his mouth.  

“Shut up,” Crowley snapped, pressing his phone into his chest to hide the screen,” ...and I know he does.” A smile crept onto his face as he looked back to his phone. 

\--- 

The day crawled on until finally it was time to drive out to the Youngs’. Crowley grabbed his keys and swung them around his finger as he walked out of the house. He hopped down the steps and walked down to his Bentley. The engine fired up and Crowley took off down the road.  

When he pulled up to the drive, he saw Adam running out the door dressed in a pirate costume and holding a pillowcase. He ran up to Crowley’s car and waved through the glass. Crowley smiled to the boy as he stepped out of the car.  

“Hey kid, where’s the rest of your crew?” not long after he asked, three children and one teenager appeared from the doorway. The kids were all dressed up as pirates with swords and pillowcases. Aziraphale looked to Crowley and smiled. He was dressed in one of his many vintage (grandpa) sweaters and a cream-colored coat. Two little red triangles stuck out from his curls. Crowley raised an eyebrow as he spotted them, was he wearing devil horns? 

_Yes he was, he was_  

_(Ooh...) Lord knows he was_  

_Yes_ _he was_  

He was. The next thing he knew a pair of cheap, white wire wings was being pushed into his hands. He looked down at them, loose grey glitter shook off onto his jeans from the wings as he looked at them.  

“It’s your costume!” Adam declared proudly. Crowley didn’t see the appeal or the humor. 

“I think those devil horns would be more fitting,” he retorted, looking to Aziraphale. The horns on him looked so...misplaced. 

“Nah that’s too easy. Put them on and let’s go! There’s sweets to be had matey!” Adam called as he led his friends down the drive towards the road that was quickly beginning to fill with other children out to get sweets. Crowley looked to Aziraphale for help but was only met with a shrug.  

“Thanks angel,” Crowley said sarcastically as he pulled the straps around his jacket. He sauntered down the drive like the wings were nothing more than a fancy cape that trailed behind him. Aziraphale laughed at him and quickly caught up. The two walked side by side down the walkway as the Them ran to houses for sweets. The two bickered in their usual sort of way. At first it was about the best kind of sweets (Crowley not caring for any and Aziraphale listing off pastries, which then began a side argument if pastries even counted as sweets), then it moved to the questionable idea of allowing children to go around begging adults for sweets, and somehow Shakespeare was brought up (Crowley only caring for the comedies when he did bother to read and Aziraphale having an obsession with Hamlet). As the sun began to set, the street lamps became their main source of light, and with the dark came the push of cold autumn air. Crowley shivered, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as they walked. Aziraphale seemed less bothered. He looked up at Crowley as the taller shook.  

“I hate the cold,” Crowley grumbled. 

“So that’s why you sleep in a mountain of blankets,” Aziraphale chuckled. He shifted his shoulders and his coat slid off. He gathered it in his hands and then handed it to Crowley,” Here dear. You ought to get a heavier coat, summer is leaving us I’m afraid.” 

Crowley didn’t have the chance to argue. The coat was in his arms and he pulled it around himself. His own jacket kept Aziraphale’s coat from fitting properly, so he just let the empty armholes sway. Another gust of wind makes him pull the coat tighter around himself and pulled the collar up. He settled into the warmth of the cloth and his shivering slowed. 

“Better?” Aziraphale asked as he watched him.  

“Yeah. Thanks,” his lisp slipping into his speech. The conversation lulled between them, but they didn’t let that bother them. It was comfortable, walking and enjoying the night. They both stole looks of the other when a head was turned, or they felt the other wasn’t paying attention. At some point, Crowley pushed his glasses to the top of his head and mumbled,” Too dark.” Aziraphale bit back the urge to comment on it but thought,’ he can see when it’s dark, yeah right.’ 

Finally, the time came to round up the kids and bring them back home. The moon was out in full force as they dragged sugar-high children down the street towards the house. They ushered Adam and his little crew into the home and each of them found themselves a bit richer as Mr. Young gave them each some money for their troubles. They thanked him before finding themselves standing on the front porch by themselves once more.  

“Need a ride home?” Crowley asked, nodding towards his car. Aziraphale shook his head as a disappointed look befell his face.  

“I can’t dear. My father is picking me up in,” he checked his watch,” exactly five minutes.” 

“Punctual guy.” 

“I’m afraid so,” Aziraphale sighed, looking out to the street.  

“Well I’ll stay here with you until he gets here. Keep you company,” Crowley said as he hopped up and sat on the railing. He stared at Aziraphale, still wrapped in the other’s coat.  

“How...nice of you,” the blond said, a smile came to his lips then spread to his eyes. Crowley opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t bring himself to fight against it when Aziraphale looked at him like that. 

_How well I remember_  

_The look that was in his eyes_  

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbled. His eyes wandered up to the halo of curls illuminated by the porch light, the devil horns still nestled within them. He reached out and gently pulled them from the other’s hair,” These don’t suit you.”  

Aziraphale stepped closer,” You’re right. But Adam thought it was fun.” 

“We’re always doing things for that little shit,” Crowley watched the other laugh. He knew if he tried to say more, his tongue wouldn’t cooperate, and he’d lisp and stumbled his way through it.  

“I’m alright with that. I think we’re his favorites and I plan to keep it that way,” Aziraphale said as he came down from his laughter. He fell quiet as he stared back at Crowley. Without his glasses, Aziraphale could look deep into the other’s eyes, giving him the courage to take a step closer. Then another. He gently took Crowley’s hands in his and pulled on them a bit to get Crowley to lean down, so they were at eye level. His eyes flitted down to the other’s lips, then back up,” Can I…?” 

“Yeah.” 

_Stealin' kisses from me on the sly_  

_Takin' time to make time_  

_Tellin' me that he's all mine_  

Divinity was a concept Crowley never really understood or cared about. He understood now; now it enveloped him. He was kissing the sun and it burned and burned and burned. He was melting through the hands that moved to hold his face. His own hands moving up and melting into the halo, sending the horns tumbling from his lap. The kiss wasn’t messy, mostly because the two of them barely moved. They were too new to it all. Crowley just kept pulling Aziraphale closer, wanting to be completely loved and wanted and enveloped by what was nothing less than Heaven itself. 

_Learnin' from each other's knowing_  

_Lookin_ _' to see how much we've grown_  

The two broke apart but remained close. Aziraphale’s smile brushed against Crowley’s mouth, leading him to smile as well. He let his arms lower and rest against Aziraphale’s waist while the other let his hang over Crowley’s shoulders.  

“Good?” Crowley asked breathlessly. 

“Hell yes,” Aziraphale chuckled. The comment surprised Crowley but instead of saying so, he kissed the other again. And again. And again. The two didn’t break apart until the loud honk of a car horn sent Aziraphale jumping back. His father sat in the front seat staring at the two of them. Aziraphale sighed and looked to Crowley,” Got to go.” 

“It’s alright angel. Here,” he paused to pull the coat from his shoulders and hands it to him, "I'll see you around? 

“Definitely,” with a final quick kiss Aziraphale turned and walked off the porch towards the waiting car. He stopped mid step, then looked back,” We’re having lunch at the church on Sunday, at noon. You’re more than welcome to come if you’d like.” 

“I’ll be there,” Crowley assured him. Aziraphale beamed then waved before walking to the car and getting in. Crowley watched from his place on the porch as the car backed out the drive.  

_And the only one who could ever reach me_  

_Was the son of a preacher man_  

“So…” Aziraphale’s father started as he reversed,” Anthony Crowley.” 

“Mhmm,” was Aziraphale’s reply. His face still held the evidence of a teen boy deep into the rush of a first love.  

“Why him? Of all the possible people in this city why a Crowley?”  

Aziraphale stared at Crowley through the windshield, watching him watch the car.  

_The only boy who could ever teach me_  

_Was the son of a preacher man_  

“He’s got goodness in him. More than he’ll admit or show,” the blond said softly,” Don’t turn this into Romeo and Juliet.” 

“I’m not. I just despise the idea of having him as a possible in-law.” 

Aziraphale laughed at that. The car pulled out the drive and disappeared down the road. With the car gone, Crowley hopped in his Bentley and sat alone in the driver’s seat for a moment, wondering if he was in love.  

_Yes he was, he was_  

_Ooh,_ _yes_ _he was_  

\--- 

That Sunday Crowley fussed over how he looked for at least an hour before his father was ushering him out the door. He’d made the mistake of mentioning the lunch and now his father had it in his head that the whole Crowley crew had to go. Afterall, Mr. Young was going to be there, and Lucifer wasn’t about to lose friendship points to ‘that holier-than-thou bastard’. Crowley regretted saying anything. The family arrived in its usual rowdy fashion and were mostly welcomed except by Yahweh himself of course. Crowley wasted no time at all in abandoning his family in favor of finding Aziraphale. He eventually spotted him sitting at a table alone, reading. Crowley smirked and pushed up his glasses. He waltzed over, being perfectly quiet as he leaned down by Aziraphale’s ear.  

“Hi angel,” he spoke suddenly. Aziraphale nearly threw his book across the church basement.  

“Crowley! You scared me!” 

“That was the point angel,” he kissed the other’s cheek briefly before sitting at the table.  

“Fiend,” Aziraphale scoffed as he set his book down. The two talked for a while, never finding it hard to think of a topic or simply sit in a comfortable lull,” You did good dressing up dear.” Aziraphale tugged slightly at Crowley’s red dress shirt. He had paired it with black dress pants and shoes. Business casual was the goal. He had spent more time than he’d like to admit fixing his hair, so it was just right.  

“I tried,” Crowley shrugged. Soon lunch was ready and both boys got something to eat, Crowley struggling with the choices (he was a ridiculously picky-eater and Aziraphale told him as much). They went back to their corner table and ate, Crowley making the occasional comment about how much he hated certain foods (any sort of weird macaroni-salad being at the top of that list). Aziraphale would either agree or roll his eyes with each one. They were wrapped up in one another and never noticed their respective families watching them carefully. Strangely enough, neither group had seen their kin look so...happy? No. They had never seen their kin look so  _complete._  

Crowley shivered a little in his seat. The basement lacked any windows and came with the obvious extra chill from being underground. Aziraphale noticed, and when they finished eating, he nudged Crowley,” Let’s go find a sunny spot upstairs.” 

Crowley nodded in agreement and rose from his chair. Aziraphale grabbed his book and Crowley’s hand.  

_The only one who could ever reach me_  

_He was the sweet-talking son of a preacher man_  

Aziraphale led Crowley passed the rows of tables and chairs of chattering guests and up a small stairway. Heels clicked against old hardwood as they entered the main part of the church. The ceilings ran high and the windows were just as tall. Some had the multi-colored pieces of stained glass; others were just clear windows. Sunlight poured into the room and Crowley automatically felt warmer. Aziraphale led Crowley through the threshold and to the first pew to the right of the aisle, where most of the sunlight was pouring in. Aziraphale settled in the corner of the pew near the aisle and Crowley joined him. He waited for Aziraphale to look at him before leaning in.  

_The only boy who could ever teach me_  

_I kissed the son of a preacher man_  

There was one kiss, then another, and then another. Finally, he pulled back with a smile. He pulled off his sunglasses and handed them to Aziraphale. 

“Keep them safe for me?” he asked. Aziraphale nodded and took them, hanging them off his shirt and patting them gently to ensure their safety. With that taken care of, Crowley stretched out across the pew. He laid his head in Aziraphale’s lap and let out a content sigh as Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. With the sun warming his skin and Aziraphale, he quickly fell into a doze. Aziraphale picked up his book and continued where he left off.  

_The only one who could ever move me_  

_The sweet-lovin' son of a preacher man_  

_The only one who could ever groove me…_  

They were still there when their fathers found them. Aziraphale didn’t look up from his book and Crowley didn’t stir from his sleep. Matching small smiles rested on their faces as they merely existed with one another. 

“If your son hurts mine, I’ll kill him,” Yahweh said in a low voice so only Lucifer could hear him.  

“If  _your_  son hurts mine, I’ll kill him,” Lucifer retorted. For once they seemed to agree on something. 

They turned and left the two be. The church grew quiet, the sun shifted but never left, and nothing but the murmur of the radio from the basement dared to disturb the two in the house of God. 

   
_Was the son of a preacher man_   

 


End file.
